


Fuck Billy Hargrove

by Thei



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Neil Hargrove Being an Asshole, No violence though, Over-use of italics, Prom, Soft Boys, Steve gets angry, and then he gets sad, steve finds out why he got stood up, steve gets stood up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:54:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24114592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thei/pseuds/Thei
Summary: Steve waspissed off.He was going to prom with Billy - or, rather, they were both going stag, buttogether- and the asshole never showed up. So Steve went looking for him to give him a piece of his mind, and -- and the thing is, that hefoundhim.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 44
Kudos: 320





	Fuck Billy Hargrove

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, read through once before posting.

_Fuck_ Billy Hargrove.

He was an asshole of the highest degree, everyone knew that. And the kicker was that _Steve_ knew that, had _known_ that for a long time, so he really shouldn’t be as upset as he was over being proved right. But he _was_. Upset, that is. Because it wasn’t like girls were throwing themselves at his feet these days, but he’d still had to turn down a couple of them for prom, because he and Billy had decided to go stag. Together.

Yeah, Steve had essentially agreed to go to prom with Billy fucking Hargrove. Worse – he’d been _excited_ about it. And worse yet – it had _seemed_ like Billy was excited about it, too.

Now he knew that it was just bullshit. That he was bullshit, Billy was bullshit, the whole concept of prom was _bullshit_. Because of course Billy hadn’t shown up. Steve had waited by his car in the parking lot for twenty minutes before going inside, figuring that Billy would come find him when he got there. Only, Billy never showed. Two hours in, and Steve had finally come to the realization that he wasn’t coming. At all. That it had all been some kind of scam – a joke, that left a bad taste in his mouth.

Billy had seemed normal at lunch, was the thing. Said that he’d rented a suit, and Steve had jokingly warned him that he wasn’t sure that they’d let him in if he didn’t button up his shirt, and then Billy had laughed and said that he wouldn’t want to deprive Hawkins of the view. And he’d winked at Steve, and it had felt _private_ , and something had fluttered in Steve’s chest and –

– and Steve had spent half an hour on his hair this evening, before he drove here, just to make sure it was perfect. He was dressed to the nines, in a crisp white shirt that had never been worn before, and a suit he knew fit him perfectly. He took more time getting ready for going stag with Billy than he probably would have if he _had_ had a date, and wasn’t that telling?

Now, he tasted bile when he thought about it, and it wasn’t just the alcohol he’d downed (both from his own flask and whatever it was Tommy and Dave had smuggled in and hid in their lockers in the boys’ locker room, for the basketball team to consume). He pulled a hand through his hair, effectively ruining it and not caring one bit, and shot up from the chair he’d been sitting in.

The chair he’d been sitting in for _forty minutes_ now, silently fuming from a corner while looking out over the smiling dancing people in the cheesily decorated gym and sneaking sips of booze, like a loser. Steve Harrington, fallen king. Loser. Bullshit. The butt of a joke.

For the last hour, he’d been half-expecting Billy to show up in a grand fashion, his followers in tow, and walk up to Steve with a wicked grin on his face, if only to shove it in his face how pathetic Steve was. _What?_ he’d say. _You didn’t actually think I’d go with you, did you? Oh my god you’re pathetic, Harrington._ Steve could picture it so clearly; was sat all tense in his corner, staring at the doors. Waiting for it, preparing for it.

But Billy never showed up. Not even to gloat. So Steve had sat there, absolutely miserable, and glared at anyone who dared to look at him. Now, he made his way out through the double doors – without anyone daring, or caring enough, to stop him – and made a beeline for his car. The crisp night air made it easier to think, and somehow solidified everything Steve was feeling – disappointment, humiliation, something strangely like grief – into one single feeling; anger.

He was _pissed off_.

For _weeks_ , he’d been looking forward to this; ever since Billy had off-handedly mentioned that he considered going stag, and Steve had hummed and nodded and said _me too_ , and _maybe we could go together_ (only half-joking). And yeah, maybe Steve was the stupid one here – he should have known what would happen, the second Billy’s eyes lit up as he agreed. He should have expected it. Billy Hargrove was an asshole, everyone knew that. Steve knew that better than _anyone_ , really, it was just that –

It was just that he’d been kind of happy, these last couple of weeks. Had enjoyed having something to look forward to. And Billy had seemed happy, too. Smiled softly when he saw him in the hallway. Nudged his shoulder when they sat next to each other in the cafeteria. Joked about them wearing matching outfits.

Now, Steve knew that it had just been in preparation for this. The smiles had been because he couldn’t believe that Steve would be so gullible. The shoulder-touching had been a test to see how far he could push Steve. The jokes had been on Steve’s expense.

So yeah, _fuck_ Billy Hargrove.

Steve should have punched him in the face, back then, and saved himself the heartache.

It wasn’t too late to do it now, though. Steve was angry enough that it would probably carry him through the first couple of punches, before Billy undoubtedly would get his bearings and beat Steve’s face into ground. The way Steve was feeling now, though? It’d be worth it.

He was fuming while he got into his car – not drunk enough to stumble, but drunk enough to not care about driving while under the influence – and he was almost growling when he drove to the first place he thought Billy might be. But the quarry was empty of cars (even though it would no doubt be crowded here later, when the teens had gotten sick of dancing and decided on _other_ activities), and there was no one else around. Steve punched the steering wheel with the palm of his hands, cursed, and threw the car into reverse.

His next stop was Billy’s house. He’d been there a couple of times now, after school when no one was there but him and Billy. He knew where it was.

Billy’s car was in the driveway.

Steve saw red when he spotted it. Billy hadn’t even bothered to _go_? Not even to _gloat_? Steve had gotten a suit and gotten ready and sat at that stupid thing for hours, and Billy was – what? Kicking back in front of the TV? Listening to music? Writing in his goddamn journal about how fucking naïve Steve Harrington was?

Steve was out of his car in a heartbeat, and halfway across the lawn before he was even aware of it. There, he stopped himself. Billy’s car wasn’t the only one on the driveway. There was a pickup truck there, too, which meant that someone else was home. Steve couldn’t just knock on the door and demand to know why Billy had – had – _stood him up_ , or whatever. Because it wasn’t like they’d had a _date_ , but that’s what it would _sound like_ to whoever opened that door.

So Steve crept outside the house and peered into the window of the living room, like a creep, just to see what was going on. There was a man in the sofa, holding a beer in one hand and watching something on TV. No Billy in sight. The kitchen was empty, too.

Luckily, Steve knew where Billy’s room was. He snuck around to the other side of the house, stealthily, protected by the dark. Unfortunately, the more compact darkness on the other side of the house also made him trip and fall over in the grass, twice, and okay _maybe_ he wasn’t as sober as he thought he was. Whatever.

When he got to the window that he knew belonged to Billy, he leaned on the windowsill and glanced inside, hands on either side of his face to see better. The room was dark. Still. Silent. He couldn’t see anyone.

But Billy’s car was here. He _had_ to be here. Maybe he was in the bathroom? Just to be sure, Steve tapped the window and hissed, “Hargrove!”

(He’d been ‘Billy’ for months, but Steve felt the situation warranted a last name.)

There was no answer, and he rapped on the window frame and tried again, a little louder. “Hargrove!”

“Harrington?” came the answer, so low that Steve thought he imagined it. He looked around in the dark, because it didn’t sound as if it came from Billy’s room.

“Where the fuck are you?” Because Steve was still _angry_ , dammit.

“Down here”, came the answer, and Steve frowned, because _what_? ‘ _Down’_? But then there was movement in the darkness. At first, Steve thought it was a rat, running down along the side of the house, but then he squinted and saw that it was a hand. A hand, sticking out through a tiny basement window, waving at him.

“Billy?” Forgetting his anger for a second, Steve got on his knees and leaned down to squint through the crack of the window. It was a small window, maybe as tall as his hand and as long as from the tip of his fingers to his elbow, and it only opened enough for Billy – because it _was_ Billy – to squeeze his hand through. “What–?”

“What are you doing here?” Billy hissed. Steve could only barely see him in the darkness, through the grimy glass, but he sounded – upset. Well, Steve could relate to that.

“You never showed up to fucking _prom_ , you asshole!”

“Shit”, came Billy’s voice, a quiet whisper. Then, a little louder, “I’m sorry, Steve. I meant to come. But listen, you can’t _be_ here. You have to _leave_.”

“The hell I do!”

Billy shushed him again, and reached out until the frame of the window was digging into his arm, until his fingers reached Steve’s, where he was leaning on the grass. Steve considered yanking his hand away, but instead he scooted closer so Billy could wrap his fingers around Steve’s wrist.

“I’m sorry”, Billy repeated, and had Steve been a little more sober he would have wondered about that, because Billy hadn’t even apologized for beating his face in, last fall. At least, not with words. “Shit, I’d planned on going, I was on my way! I didn’t –“

And now when Steve thought about it, he saw that Billy’s arm was dressed in a fancy shirt, too. The white sleeve was getting stains from the grass and the rusty window, but hey, Steve’s whole suit was probably ruined too after sitting on his hands and knees in the muddy grass. Unthinkingly, Steve turned his hand up and laced their fingers together. Billy let out a breath.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked, whispering, because Billy seemed to want to keep things quiet. “Why are you in the basement?”

A heartbeat, then, “My dad.”

Steve frowned. Billy had never said anything outright, but Steve got the feeling that Billy’s dad was kind of a hardass. Billy made sure to never miss a curfew and he was always on Max about the importance of family dinners and the likes. And sometimes, Steve had noticed, Billy would flinch if someone touched him unexpectedly.

He didn’t know what Billy’s dad had to do with Billy being in the basement, but he had an inkling of where this was going, and he didn’t like it.

“Are you okay?” was what he asked, and he gave Billy’s hand a little squeeze.

Another exhale, which sounded almost like a sigh. “Yeah, I’m fine, he didn’t smack me around or anything.” As if that was something he _normally_ would do, and that was a whole lot to unpack right there, but Billy continued before Steve had even thought to open his mouth. “He just … He found out I lied to him, and he doesn’t like liars.”

Steve’s mouth was dry. “What did you lie to him about?”

“I said … I said I had a date to prom. Some random girl. But he found out I was going stag, and he – he _doesn’t like liars_. Said that if I didn’t have a date, then no one would miss me if I didn’t go. And then he … locked me in here, I guess.”

Steve’s mind was reeling, because what the fuck? “He locked you in the _basement_?”

“Technically it’s the laundry room? I’m sitting on the washing machine now.”

“You’re sitting on th– _I don’t care about that_!”

Billy shushed him again, and made to pull his hand away, but Steve held on tight. Lowered his voice when he continued. “He still locked you up! What kind of asshole does that?”

Billy laughed, and it sounded bitter to Steve’s ears. “A Hargrove.”

Deciding on ignoring that for now, Steve concentrated on the problem at hand. “Can you get out?”

“No”, Billy said. Sure of himself, as if he’d tried it already. “The window’s too small and the door locks from the outside. I’m really sorry, pretty boy. I meant to show up, I promise you.”

“Yeah, I know”, Steve said, and was surprised to find out it was true. He let his thumb rub across Billy’s knuckles, and even in the dark and separated by a tiny basement window, it was somehow the most intimate moment Steve had had with anyone for – a long time. 

He bit his lip. “Can I do anything? Like, I can distract him or something, and you can break out or –“

A hoarse laugh. “Thanks, but it’s not worth it when he realizes I’m not still in here.” _Why_ , Steve wanted to ask. _What would he do if he found that out?_ “Besides, I don’t want him to see you. Which is why you should _leave_.” He squeezed Steve’s hand. “Please.”

Steve shook his head, even though Billy probably couldn’t see him. “I can’t just leave you locked in the basement, Billy.”

“It’s okay, really. I’m okay. He’s gonna let me out in the morning. He always does.” Meaning this wasn’t the first time this happened. _Fuck._ “If you want, we can meet up tomorrow? At the … at the quarry or something?”

He sounded so sure that he would be allowed out tomorrow that Steve couldn’t help but relax a fraction. He suddenly wanted nothing more than having Billy stand before him, so he could see for himself that he was okay.

“Yeah, I – I want that. Let’s do that. When?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be able to get away. After dinner, probably?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Okay”, Billy said, giving Steve’s hand another squeeze. “Okay. It’s a date.”

Steve couldn’t see his face – couldn’t see if it was said jokingly or not – but the words hit like a punch to the gut. He found himself nodding anyway. “Yeah. Okay.”

Reluctantly, he pulled his hand out of Billy’s. Billy pulled his arm back, but not by much. Steve stood up, brushed grass off his knees, and looked down at the window. It was so dark, he could barely see Billy’s face. It was just a slightly less-dark blurb behind the glass. He frowned again.

“Can’t you turn the lights on or something, at least?”

There was a pause. Then, “The switch is on the other side of the door.”

And Steve’s mind went blank with sudden fury. He had half a mind to march up to the front door and knock and demand to know what kind of horrible parent locked their kid up in the basement – in the _dark_! – when he was supposed to go to prom and have fun and –

As if Billy could sense his mood, he waved his hand a little to get Steve’s attention, and then said, “Hey, it’s okay. I don’t mind it. Really. It’s easier to sleep when it’s dark, anyway.”

Steve took a couple of breaths. Thought of how he himself couldn’t sleep in the dark, anymore. How he needed at least two lamps on in his room – the overhead one and the one on his bedside table – if he were to fall asleep these days. And then he thought of Billy, locked in a pitch black basement, and he wanted to cry.

“Billy –“

“It’s _okay_ ”, Billy said again. “Now, get out of here. Go home. Don’t let my dad see you.” He made a shooing motion with his hand, and Steve almost smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah”, Steve said. “See you tomorrow.” And he silently vowed to himself that he _would_ ; that if Billy didn’t show up at the quarry, Steve would come back equipped with a crowbar and either pry the window open or bash Billy’s dad over the head with it. Whatever he had to do.

He was hesitant to leave. Looked back over his shoulder a couple of times. The light skin of Billy’s hand and the sleeve of a now-stained white shirt was a sharp contrast against the grass; easy to spot in the darkness now when Steve knew what to look for. Just before he rounded the corner, Billy raised his hand and waved at him. Steve felt like an idiot even as he raised his own arm, because it wasn’t like Billy would be able to see him.

But he still waved back.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in one sitting, because I woke up with this specific scenario in mind. I have five WIPs to work on. Why is my brain doing this to me?


End file.
